


Been Here a While

by sc010f



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint's a ghost, Gen, Natasha Needs a Hug, Phil's not dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/pseuds/sc010f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Natasha is the cellist, Phil isn't dead, but Clint's a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Been Here a While

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BootsnBlossoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/gifts).



> An AU Tumblr prompt for Bootsnblossoms who asked for Clint/Natasha ghost/living person AU.

Natasha likes her new place, even if the building is kind of shitty: five stories of walkup apartment with a cello wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but then, neither was getting a gig with the Metropolitan Opera orchestra. She tries to tell herself that it's the best job in the world (it is) and that Phil would have been proud of her, but that doesn't stop her from feeling crushed under the weight of being in New York and not with Phil. 

"You see what you want to see, I guess," she'd told the S.H.I.E.L.D team, and she absolutely hates herself for missing Phil, for wanting to see him so badly that she thought she did, because she's a survivor, dammit, and she's a strong woman who doesn't _need_ a man to make her feel whole. 

So now she lives in a shitty apartment in Bed-Stuy and plays with the best damn orchestra in the world and pretends that the scars in the buildings and streets of the city don't affect her.

* * *

Clint thinks that being dead shouldn't be this boring. Like, shouldn’t he be in heaven or hell or something, instead of stuck at his apartment? He's gotten tired of floating through the building, _his_ building, making lights flicker – which just pisses off the tenants and doors slam. So when the hot redhead moves into his apartment, he's unreasonably excited. Not like _that_ , of course. Okay, maybe a little like that, because he's dead, he's not… aw, no.

* * *

Natasha notices that something's off about three months into her tenancy. At first she put it down to an old and shitty building, but she's had that bedside lamp for years and she knows there's nothing wrong with it, and there's no reason for the bulbs she puts in there to keep dying. Plus, the place creaks and thumps in weird ways she really can't just dismiss as the building settling. 

Also, she _know_ what it feels like to be watched. Good sense tells her that if she is being watched and it's S.H.I.E.L.D doing the watching, it's creepy and unsettling, and if it's someone (or something) else, it could be dangerous. Natasha's definitely not sold on contacting S.H.I.E.L.D right now so she decides against all good sense, mostly because she'd decided to have a drink or three before heading home, to take matters into her own hands and stands in the middle of her living room one night after a performance, wielding her bow and screaming, "come on out, motherfucker!"

* * *

Clint is so surprised that he falls off of the beam he was perched on. He also manages to fall on the hot redhead (Natasha, call her Natasha, that's her name you moron), and while it's more that he falls through her and rolls away really fast, he does notice that she's also staring _right at_ him.

"You can see me?" he asks her, completely dumbfounded.

"Who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Natasha demands. 

"Actually," Clint says, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's mine."

"Oh, I am not dealing with this right now," Natasha mutters.

"Hey, I'm not that sold on the idea of being dead, but not… I dunno, transcended or something right now, yanno," Clint snaps back, scrambling to his feet.

"Jesus."

"No, Clint," Clint says. 

"Oh, ha, ha," Natasha replies, walking over to the kitchen. Clint refuses to think of it as _her_ kitchen even though she obviously uses it more than he ever did in his lifetime. 

"So, you're Clint, then? How long have you been… here?" she gestures around the apartment with a tumbler of vodka. 

"Yeah, well, uh, a while, and okay, so the tenants were having trouble, and I kind of… fixed it for them."

"You didn't answer my question," Natasha snaps and Clint kind of thinks he might be in love a little. It was like when he was alive and Phil would snap at him to shut up over the coms. 

"Uh, no. Well, I guess I died during the Battle of New York."

"Oh." Natasha's voice goes all quiet and oh, shit, from the way she's gone all pale and is studying the vodka like it's the most interesting thing in the world, well Clint wasn't that good of a spy but he does have really good vision and he can tell when people are upset, thank you very much. Plus, he's been living with her for three months, he _knew_ she was mourning someone. Just, wow… they must have been… it's been a long time. 

"You lost someone, too?" he asks. 

"Yeah," Natasha says. "I'm sorry. God, I can't believe I'm talking to a ghost. I'm sorry, did you lose… someone? Or did someone lose you?"

Clint can't help the wet choking of laughter.

"Yeah," he says. "Sort of. I mean, I thought he'd died. So, what was the point in my fighting anymore?"

"But," Natasha prompts.

"Yeah, well, he wasn't actually dead, because my ex-boss is a motherfucking master of manipulation and doesn't, didn't actually give a flying fuck about what people's actual wishes are." Clint can't believe he's actually telling Natasha this, but after months of living with her and not spying on her in the shower – okay, well, there were a few times but she doesn't need to know about them – he does sort of feel like he can trust her.

"So you died and he lived?" Natasha asks. Clint thinks she'll probably shatter the glass if her grip gets tighter. He takes a deep breath (reflexive, because it's not like he's _actually_ breathing) and reaches out to cover her hand with his. 

He's really prepared for him to go straight through, but he doesn't. She's warm and her skin is smooth and soft and alive. 

"You've been here a long time," Natasha says. 

"Yeah, for some reason. I dunno." Clint shrugs, but doesn't move his hand. 

"Yeah, me neither," Natasha says.


End file.
